While yesterday proved to be a hard day, today proved to be the exact opposite. I feel in control again and ready to face whatever it is I may face. I did not indulge in a massage, a pedicure, a yoga retreat, or even two lattes for that matter - but that's o.k. My boobs are still distractingly enormous but that, too, is o.k. I just let it all go and accepted that not every day (yesterday) can be great....because than great days, like today, wouldn't feel so special. My mom once said that to me about working; I was wishing aloud that I were independently wealthy and Mom said, "Yes, but if you didn't work Monday through Friday, Saturday wouldn't feel like Saturday...and Saturdays are great days." That's the kind of logic that I like.
I just finished the movie The Pursuit of Happyness (for those of you who haven't seen the movie...I know happiness is really spelled with an "I" but the title of the film is spelled with a "Y"). I was hesitant to see the movie because it seemed a bit obvious to me. Single father does good. Tear jerker. Yadda Yadda Yadda. Plus, I don't like Will Smith for several reasons. 1.) He home schools his children because he was quoted as saying that he can teach them everything they need to know. I don't even know where to begin with the ridiculousness of this statement. On one level, I'm offended because I'm a teacher and he's an actor. I always marvel at people who think teaching is an innate quality in everyone; a skill that isn't honed through years of work and schooling but just something that adults were born to know how to do. Some people think that because they are literate they are somehow qualified to teach literacy. Not so true. You don't see me traipsing around movie sets telling people that I'm going to win an Oscar. No. Because I'm not an actor. I'll teach Will and you act. Home school your children all day long everyday if you so wish. Just don't do it because you can do it better. That's a lame reason. I would think you were more normal if you home schooled them because of some bizarre religious beliefs or you had some crazy fears about peer pressure. Those are more legitimate reasons than the ego-centric belief that you know everything your children will need academically. 2) Will Smith hangs out with Tom Cruise. Enough said. 3.) I don't like Jada Pinkett Smith, Will's wife. She's always talking about "staying thin for my man" and "making my man happy" and all kinds of other borderline private information. Fine. You're skinny. You have a great sex life. We get it. 4.) He was the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. I never liked that show. Despite the four above mentioned reasons for disliking Will Smith, I braved the film. I have to say, it was kind of moving.
The one thing I walked away thinking about was the notion that happiness is something we need to actively pursue. How many times have I heard someone say that life, liberty, and happiness are constitutional rights? A million. Maybe only a hundred. Or a handful. I've heard it enough times to think that some are confused by this "right" of ours. Happiness isn't guaranteed. It isn't a right. At all. The pursuit of it is. Pursuit is a heavy word. It's difficult. It's bleak at times. It's choosing to face fears because you think something better might be on the other side. It's putting your faith in something that you can't see. No one is guaranteeing anything when you come out the other end. That is up to you. You choose your reaction to the final outcome. Sometimes we choose happiness and sometimes we don't. I'm learning to choose it more often. I am pursuing it, but also finding the joy in the pursuit. Maybe that's why today was so good. I just let go and laughed a lot. I also ate a ton of ice cream this evening thinking that was a good idea and it just wasn't. Not so happy about that.
Off to bed. I'm trying to fall asleep earlier than 10:30. I know I sound like 195 year old saying that. I need more sleep though. That's on my to-do list. Sadly, it's not even close to being at the top of the list but at least it's on there.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
I'll have a full caf extra long massage and pedi...to go
I wanted to add a few photos before I started to write. The first picture is entitled BFFs. Mia loves her V. They walk together every day and this shot was taken before loading up into the stroller the other day. The second picture was taken this a.m. I want to send a shout out to the very talented ELK for designing the poodle shirt Mia is wearing with her plaid shorts. It's a favorite.
The last photo is of the cousins at play on the water mat. Mia and Ottilia are blissfully unaware of each other right now....give that a few months. Pretty soon they'll be squawking that the other took her toy! We are going to arrange a deal....Ottilia is going to give Mia some hair and in exchange Mia is going to give Ottilia some teeth. It looks like Mia is saying, "Say what?" to that comment in this photo.
On to the day's post....
I woke up wanting a massage. And a yoga retreat. And some time in a cute bikini without the new stomach I've acquired post Mia. I wanted to splurge on a ridiculous top - ridiculously cute and expensive. I wanted a pedicure (while I'm at the spa getting the massage) and TWO lattes...not just one. I wanted my huge boobs that don't fit into any of my tops to go back to the way they were pre breast feeding. And I wanted a nanny to swoop in and take Mia for the day. Is that asking too much??Just a little break is all I need.
My relationship with Mia is unlike anything I've ever experienced with another human being. She is awesome, in every sense of the word. She needs me though and that is something I'm not used to. I'm used to being wanted (God that feels so egocentric!). It's true though. My family, my friends, V...they all love me unconditionally but they choose to hang out with me. Their very existence doesn't depend upon me. Mia's does. To be honest, on most days, I love feeling so needed. She has tapped into some dormant part of my soul that feels alive now. All of those questions about purpose, identity, and career seem to have melted into oblivion when she arrived. Being needed is terrifying though. What if I fail? What if she needs something I can't provide? And on days like today, days I want to escape to another place and time, I feel terribly guilty. I don't want a break from my title or my role. I don't want a break from my relationship with her. I just want a big ol day off. With pay. I know it's normal. All moms need a break now and again. We can't keep perpetuating the myth that every moment of motherhood is like a champagne glass overflowing with Dom as fireworks explode overhead. While that sensation is always tingling somewhere deep in my heart, the reality of it can be a bit bleaker. Like today, when I looked in the mirror and carefully applied my concealer beneath my eyes and tried to convince myself that the current black circles I'm rocking are truly very hip - kind of tired Western writer meets Eastern European fashionista. I'm not talking present day Eastern Europe either....I'm talking 1989 Berlin Wall kind of Eastern European. Now that's a description of some dark circles folks...and the type of fashionista I am these days.
You're worth it Mia. Never mistake my wanting to have a long vacation as my way of escaping you. It isn't. It's my way of reclaiming the me I used to be. It's important that you know that girl I used to be and love her too. That's fine that you need me, the Mom but I guess I want you to love me, the Meg. Make sense? It doesn't to me either really. Maybe when we're both older it will. We've got a life time to figure this stuff out. Let's call it a day. A good one too.
Friday, May 25, 2007
M.O.M
It’s confirmed. I’m a parent. I had my moment: the moment that parents speak of having when their fate is revealed to them with blinding clarity. I’ve often wondered about the time that my status as MOM would be shown to me. It doesn’t really hit me when I go to pay for something and pull out a diaper, wipes, some clothing, a board book, and several toys before fishing my wallet out of the very very bottom of my purse. It doesn’t hit me when I’m woken up at 2:00 a.m. It doesn’t hit me when I wonder if I’ve brushed my teeth yet, and it’s past noon. It doesn’t hit me when I’m calling to make her doctor appointments and I say, “This is regarding my daughter, Mia.” Those moments have all been surreal on some level. Did I just say ‘daughter”? Is it really 2:00.a.m. and I’m eating a cupcake after nursing? Do I really have a dirty diaper in my purse? None of those experiences have been THE moment though. I’ve been sailing through my days, often looking down on my hip only to think, “Oh, hi there. You look a lot like my husband and me. Nice to meet you.” It’s like I’m me…but with a baby. We’re us, the couple we always were, plus one little size small munchkin.
Yesterday afternoon, I had my moment. It was the event that sealed the deal. I am a true life, actual sized, don’t bother pinching me because I know it’s true, MOM. V had a meeting at work and was supposed to be home at 2:30. I was scheduled to leave the house at 3:00 to head to my tutoring appt. V is incredibly prompt so when I didn’t hear the garage door making its usual racket as it opens, I knew that Mia would be working tandem with me as I helped my struggling student hammer out a cohesive five paragraph essay. I called V in a slight panic to ask where he was at ten to 3. He explained that he was running late and that he felt terrible about not calling earlier. He kept thinking the meeting would end! I woke Mia up from her nap, packed her bag, and loaded her up to head to the office. I lugged her up the stairs as she shook her toy and I apologetically explained to my waiting student that V would be there shortly to pick up Mia. I parked her in the corner and switched gears immediately. I began to explain to my student that she should really be leading her essays with more convincing points, not burying them near the end of her pieces. Mia hummed in the corner and squawked as we worked. I would glance her way and rock her seat with my foot as I scanned my student’s work analyzing sentence structure. V was there within about 15 minutes and we seamlessly exchanged roles. He poked his head into the office, slid his hand along my back as he gathered Mia and her things, and was out the door before I even knew what hit me. I was in the middle of discussing my student’s need to bring in more specific examples as my V morphed into Daddy. No words were even exchanged during the swap. Damn that was smooth. How did we do that? Who taught us that maneuver? Oh wait. We’re parents. I’m a mom. A real mom. And V's a dad. A great one too. How did this happen? When did this happen? It was if I had woken up from a long coma only to discover that we had procreated and not only was the baby gorgeous and gifted (smile), but we were kind of good at this parenthood thing. This was the defining moment I had been waiting for. It wasn’t glamorous, nor really all that comfortable, but it was a powerful feeling.
Parenthood is a juggling act; when all of the balls are mid air and you find yourself actually doing it, it’s a beautiful sight to behold. I realize that I’m not the me of yesteryear. Sure, I still like the same things, laugh at the same jokes, get fired up about the same issues…but now there is always a part of me that is rocking that seat with my foot, even when Mia isn’t with me. A part of me is always with her. A part of her is always with us. It isn’t the two of us, V and me, with a baby. It’s the three of us. With a poodle of course. I feel like I should be scared now that I've had my moment. I feel like I should be slightly intimidated about the more intense moments to come. You know what? I say bring it on. This is one role I was born to tackle.
She's napping now so I'm going to relax. I'll tackle it when she wakes up!
Yesterday afternoon, I had my moment. It was the event that sealed the deal. I am a true life, actual sized, don’t bother pinching me because I know it’s true, MOM. V had a meeting at work and was supposed to be home at 2:30. I was scheduled to leave the house at 3:00 to head to my tutoring appt. V is incredibly prompt so when I didn’t hear the garage door making its usual racket as it opens, I knew that Mia would be working tandem with me as I helped my struggling student hammer out a cohesive five paragraph essay. I called V in a slight panic to ask where he was at ten to 3. He explained that he was running late and that he felt terrible about not calling earlier. He kept thinking the meeting would end! I woke Mia up from her nap, packed her bag, and loaded her up to head to the office. I lugged her up the stairs as she shook her toy and I apologetically explained to my waiting student that V would be there shortly to pick up Mia. I parked her in the corner and switched gears immediately. I began to explain to my student that she should really be leading her essays with more convincing points, not burying them near the end of her pieces. Mia hummed in the corner and squawked as we worked. I would glance her way and rock her seat with my foot as I scanned my student’s work analyzing sentence structure. V was there within about 15 minutes and we seamlessly exchanged roles. He poked his head into the office, slid his hand along my back as he gathered Mia and her things, and was out the door before I even knew what hit me. I was in the middle of discussing my student’s need to bring in more specific examples as my V morphed into Daddy. No words were even exchanged during the swap. Damn that was smooth. How did we do that? Who taught us that maneuver? Oh wait. We’re parents. I’m a mom. A real mom. And V's a dad. A great one too. How did this happen? When did this happen? It was if I had woken up from a long coma only to discover that we had procreated and not only was the baby gorgeous and gifted (smile), but we were kind of good at this parenthood thing. This was the defining moment I had been waiting for. It wasn’t glamorous, nor really all that comfortable, but it was a powerful feeling.
Parenthood is a juggling act; when all of the balls are mid air and you find yourself actually doing it, it’s a beautiful sight to behold. I realize that I’m not the me of yesteryear. Sure, I still like the same things, laugh at the same jokes, get fired up about the same issues…but now there is always a part of me that is rocking that seat with my foot, even when Mia isn’t with me. A part of me is always with her. A part of her is always with us. It isn’t the two of us, V and me, with a baby. It’s the three of us. With a poodle of course. I feel like I should be scared now that I've had my moment. I feel like I should be slightly intimidated about the more intense moments to come. You know what? I say bring it on. This is one role I was born to tackle.
She's napping now so I'm going to relax. I'll tackle it when she wakes up!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Om
I took a great yoga class last night. I was in need of a good practice since I've been recovering from my itsy bitsy teeny weeny little mole removal. (Pathology came back...it was just that....an itsy bitsy teeny weeny little healthy mole). I think I took the doctor's advice, no yoga until the stitches come out, a bit too far. I was asking V to fetch me glasses of water "because of my surgery". Anyone who has had a mole removed knows that I worked this thing for everything it was worth. Needless to say, I'm back in working order and last night's class was glorious. Oh how I love yoga. I love that Hadley practices in her own way, and I hope to raise Mia practicing too. V likes to think about practicing. He does it on the occasion when he is a bit lopsided from too much running or basketball. He'll tell me he needs "a session" - which involves me sitting in the living room adjusting him in every pose. I wish he would buy a damn pass to a studio but I do love his home grown spirit. He's gotten me practicing at home too. That's the beauty of yoga. Anywhere. Anytime.
LOST season finale didn't disappoint last night. WTF is going on? Did we see into the future of the islanders? Are they indeed eventually rescued? Is Charlie really dead? Who is Naomi? Why is Locke so hell bent on staying on the island? Where is Walt? So many more questions.
V starts his new job today. Hooray for V! I'm unbelievably proud of him. He is a seeker...like me. He knew he wanted more, he wanted different, and he sought it out. Mia and I are lucky ladies. Bijou too. (What other guy do you know that carefully brushes his poodle's teeth and picks out dirt balls from her fur?) V is a light folks. He's worth following. I did and the adventure keeps getting better and better. Three cheers for the best husband, daddy, dog owner in the world...hip hip (we shout HOORAY).
Wow. A rush from the past. We used to do this on the way home from long road trips. As we were pulling into the driveway, Mom would say, "three cheers for Dad!" because the poor guy had just driven for what felt like centuries. Mom would shout "Hip Hip" and we would all shout "HOORAY" from the backseat of the suburban. Then Emily would say, "I call first shower and you can't try to weasel in there because I just called it." Every time. You would think I would have figured out to call it earlier. But I never did.
Three cheers to the Paddens. We're still the motley crew in that ol' suburban with Dad as our navigator and Mom as co-pilot. We've all carried on the legacy of pulling into our driveways successfully after an adventure. Hip hip (everyone shouts HOORAY) to mom, the outlaws, the kids, and to Dad...guiding us along.
LOST season finale didn't disappoint last night. WTF is going on? Did we see into the future of the islanders? Are they indeed eventually rescued? Is Charlie really dead? Who is Naomi? Why is Locke so hell bent on staying on the island? Where is Walt? So many more questions.
V starts his new job today. Hooray for V! I'm unbelievably proud of him. He is a seeker...like me. He knew he wanted more, he wanted different, and he sought it out. Mia and I are lucky ladies. Bijou too. (What other guy do you know that carefully brushes his poodle's teeth and picks out dirt balls from her fur?) V is a light folks. He's worth following. I did and the adventure keeps getting better and better. Three cheers for the best husband, daddy, dog owner in the world...hip hip (we shout HOORAY).
Wow. A rush from the past. We used to do this on the way home from long road trips. As we were pulling into the driveway, Mom would say, "three cheers for Dad!" because the poor guy had just driven for what felt like centuries. Mom would shout "Hip Hip" and we would all shout "HOORAY" from the backseat of the suburban. Then Emily would say, "I call first shower and you can't try to weasel in there because I just called it." Every time. You would think I would have figured out to call it earlier. But I never did.
Three cheers to the Paddens. We're still the motley crew in that ol' suburban with Dad as our navigator and Mom as co-pilot. We've all carried on the legacy of pulling into our driveways successfully after an adventure. Hip hip (everyone shouts HOORAY) to mom, the outlaws, the kids, and to Dad...guiding us along.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Mo Cuishle
I’m feeling a bit jaded this afternoon. Questions of love and commitment are swirling around my mind. You know what caused this onset of thoughts? I’m embarrassed to admit this…but I will.
The Bachelor.
I watched the season finale last night and to my horror – HORROR – the guy said, “I love you” to both of his final choices. What in the hell was he thinking? If the stale beauty he chose has any sense in her lovely square jawed, yet vapid, head, she’ll leave him. Here is a quick recap. He spends two date nights, with both of his final choices, in Hawaii. He professes his love for both of them and successfully leads them both to believe that they are indeed his favorite. He bids them farewell on the eve of the big final rose ceremony and takes his shirt off to run and think about his final decision. “I’m so conflicted,” he moans. “I’m so torn.” Meanwhile his abs are rippling as he gazes out into the sunset. He finally chooses Tessa. And he proposes to her! What? Less than 24 hours before he got on bended knee, he was saying “I love you” to another woman! How can this be? Call me crazy but I just don’t think the guy is ready for marriage. I know I’m a little late jumping on the “it’s offensive” boat but I’m here now…with my life preserver strapped on and bull horn in tow to alert others out there swimming around hopelessly in the ocean. Seriously, this show is just downright wrong. It is perpetuating the false notion that love is as easy as a slipping into a cute bikini in Kauai and drinking all day long (not to say that isn't nice...cause it is).
Love is dirty. It is hard. It is watching faults magnify before your very eyes. It is difficult. In all of these trying times, the beauty of it all is born. That’s when you see your partner’s true colors. You partner’s ability to rise to the occasion becomes one of his/her greatest qualities. It outshines any little fault that has been blown out of proportion. Like and lust may be triggered upon hello but love…that is special. That is different. It is born from commitment…that big scary word that we as Americans have a hard time spelling yet alone practicing. Love is born out of shared experiences. It is deepened through loss, death, and pain. It is practiced in the good times yet proven in the bad. We, the silly little pleasure seekers we are, like to think otherwise. We think it is the other way around. We like to think we can show evidence of our love by doing things that “in love” couples do – sending cutesy Christmas cards, going on vacations, wearing matching outfits in pictures, etc. We then think we can just practice the art of loving when shit hits the fan. Wrong. You practice it daily. You practice it by apologizing for saying things you didn’t mean. You practice it by going out of your way to please the other person. You practice it by opening yourself up and being vulnerable. You prove it when you haven’t the energy to do any of the above because you are broken. After my dad’s death, I remember laying in bed and rolling over to face V. I began to apologize for not being emotionally available at the moment…for being distant. He told me I didn’t need to say anymore. He knew. I didn’t need to practice any of the little things during this hard time because all of the little practices leading up to this point had proven it. I guess this is why I wonder how the Bachelor can get on bended knee? What strife have the two seen together? What glue have they created? Mai Tais and luaus?
Juxtapose The Bachelor’s interpretation of love with that of Frankie’s expression of love from Million Dollar Baby. I just saw the movie for the first time the other day and I was and am still struck by its incredible beauty. The way Clint Eastwood cradles Hilary Swank’s face in that last scene. He didn’t usher her into this world because he wasn’t her father. He loved her like a father though. He loved her enough to usher her out of this world. My heart swelled with emotion as he removed her breathing tube and whispered close to her face, “Mo cuishle means my darling. My blood.” I thought of my own Dad’s death, of which I can’t write because it is too personal. I thought of my own last words to him. I thought of how beautiful it was that I was able to usher him out – with dignity and pride. That's love. Right there.
You see why I'm feeling a bit cynical today? Damn Bachelor. As my friend Erin said..luckily we have some time to cool off before we get sucked into another season. I'll need someone in the lifeboat to swing by and remind me that I'm supposed to be rescuing others, not out swimming with them.
The Bachelor.
I watched the season finale last night and to my horror – HORROR – the guy said, “I love you” to both of his final choices. What in the hell was he thinking? If the stale beauty he chose has any sense in her lovely square jawed, yet vapid, head, she’ll leave him. Here is a quick recap. He spends two date nights, with both of his final choices, in Hawaii. He professes his love for both of them and successfully leads them both to believe that they are indeed his favorite. He bids them farewell on the eve of the big final rose ceremony and takes his shirt off to run and think about his final decision. “I’m so conflicted,” he moans. “I’m so torn.” Meanwhile his abs are rippling as he gazes out into the sunset. He finally chooses Tessa. And he proposes to her! What? Less than 24 hours before he got on bended knee, he was saying “I love you” to another woman! How can this be? Call me crazy but I just don’t think the guy is ready for marriage. I know I’m a little late jumping on the “it’s offensive” boat but I’m here now…with my life preserver strapped on and bull horn in tow to alert others out there swimming around hopelessly in the ocean. Seriously, this show is just downright wrong. It is perpetuating the false notion that love is as easy as a slipping into a cute bikini in Kauai and drinking all day long (not to say that isn't nice...cause it is).
Love is dirty. It is hard. It is watching faults magnify before your very eyes. It is difficult. In all of these trying times, the beauty of it all is born. That’s when you see your partner’s true colors. You partner’s ability to rise to the occasion becomes one of his/her greatest qualities. It outshines any little fault that has been blown out of proportion. Like and lust may be triggered upon hello but love…that is special. That is different. It is born from commitment…that big scary word that we as Americans have a hard time spelling yet alone practicing. Love is born out of shared experiences. It is deepened through loss, death, and pain. It is practiced in the good times yet proven in the bad. We, the silly little pleasure seekers we are, like to think otherwise. We think it is the other way around. We like to think we can show evidence of our love by doing things that “in love” couples do – sending cutesy Christmas cards, going on vacations, wearing matching outfits in pictures, etc. We then think we can just practice the art of loving when shit hits the fan. Wrong. You practice it daily. You practice it by apologizing for saying things you didn’t mean. You practice it by going out of your way to please the other person. You practice it by opening yourself up and being vulnerable. You prove it when you haven’t the energy to do any of the above because you are broken. After my dad’s death, I remember laying in bed and rolling over to face V. I began to apologize for not being emotionally available at the moment…for being distant. He told me I didn’t need to say anymore. He knew. I didn’t need to practice any of the little things during this hard time because all of the little practices leading up to this point had proven it. I guess this is why I wonder how the Bachelor can get on bended knee? What strife have the two seen together? What glue have they created? Mai Tais and luaus?
Juxtapose The Bachelor’s interpretation of love with that of Frankie’s expression of love from Million Dollar Baby. I just saw the movie for the first time the other day and I was and am still struck by its incredible beauty. The way Clint Eastwood cradles Hilary Swank’s face in that last scene. He didn’t usher her into this world because he wasn’t her father. He loved her like a father though. He loved her enough to usher her out of this world. My heart swelled with emotion as he removed her breathing tube and whispered close to her face, “Mo cuishle means my darling. My blood.” I thought of my own Dad’s death, of which I can’t write because it is too personal. I thought of my own last words to him. I thought of how beautiful it was that I was able to usher him out – with dignity and pride. That's love. Right there.
You see why I'm feeling a bit cynical today? Damn Bachelor. As my friend Erin said..luckily we have some time to cool off before we get sucked into another season. I'll need someone in the lifeboat to swing by and remind me that I'm supposed to be rescuing others, not out swimming with them.
Friday, May 18, 2007
The Secret Life of Meez
Mia in Bijou's Dog Bed - 5/18/07
You know her as Mia. You may have seen her perched on my hip or nuzzled against V’s chest. You have probably noticed that she is a bit tentative with you…with strangers. She keeps one hand on her dear mama and daddy at all times while she eyes you with a strange interest. She will sit, stone faced, as you wiggle your ears and wag your tongue at her. She will look at you quizzically when you baby talk and shake your hands near her face. You will say, “She is so serious!” “She is a tough one to please eh?” Mia, as you know her, is a bit shy - maybe even a tad scared. You are new. You are not us.
We know her as our beloved Meez, a nickname for her. It is our tender calling for her as we shout up the stairs that we are on our way when we hear her waking up from a nap. It is our sweet coming home greeting when we’ve been gone for a few hours and we return to her shining face. It is our pet name for her. Nicknames cut right to the chase – the real core. They are a way of showing a loved one that you know them best. You not only know them for who they are; you know them for who they are when they are with you.
Mia is a laugher. She is full of joy and zest. She is silly. And rowdy. That sweet little creature clinging to us around strangers is a far cry from the Meez that we know privately – at home in our tender den. She shouts at our house and smiles as her voice carries around the room. She belly laughs at Bijou, her best friend/poodle and begs for more wet sloppy kisses with her open toothy grin. She lays in bed with us in the wee hours of the morning and honks our noses as she rolls back and forth between the only two people she knows will always be there for her.
When we meet other people out, I notice our lovable Meez morphing into a more tentative little girl. At times, I want to explain to people that she really is hilarious. She really isn’t serious. But then I stop myself. She is interacting and engaging with the world for the first time. She is learning to trust, to sense, to forgive…all of those things that we as adults never properly learned so we simply gave up. She is learning who she wants to be around you at the same time as figuring out who she wants to be around us. She is figuring out who this Mia person really is and what she’s here to do. She doesn't need me interfering with this tricky learning process. She can do it all on her own. When we see her acting more serious with strangers, there is a little tickly sensation rising from our hearts. A part of us feels so lucky. That open heart of hers is a little more guarded around others. That silly grin is a little slower to spread across her face around new people. We feel chosen. We know her – the whole package, not just one side. We have been gifted with a secret - the secret life of Meez.
We know her as our beloved Meez, a nickname for her. It is our tender calling for her as we shout up the stairs that we are on our way when we hear her waking up from a nap. It is our sweet coming home greeting when we’ve been gone for a few hours and we return to her shining face. It is our pet name for her. Nicknames cut right to the chase – the real core. They are a way of showing a loved one that you know them best. You not only know them for who they are; you know them for who they are when they are with you.
Mia is a laugher. She is full of joy and zest. She is silly. And rowdy. That sweet little creature clinging to us around strangers is a far cry from the Meez that we know privately – at home in our tender den. She shouts at our house and smiles as her voice carries around the room. She belly laughs at Bijou, her best friend/poodle and begs for more wet sloppy kisses with her open toothy grin. She lays in bed with us in the wee hours of the morning and honks our noses as she rolls back and forth between the only two people she knows will always be there for her.
When we meet other people out, I notice our lovable Meez morphing into a more tentative little girl. At times, I want to explain to people that she really is hilarious. She really isn’t serious. But then I stop myself. She is interacting and engaging with the world for the first time. She is learning to trust, to sense, to forgive…all of those things that we as adults never properly learned so we simply gave up. She is learning who she wants to be around you at the same time as figuring out who she wants to be around us. She is figuring out who this Mia person really is and what she’s here to do. She doesn't need me interfering with this tricky learning process. She can do it all on her own. When we see her acting more serious with strangers, there is a little tickly sensation rising from our hearts. A part of us feels so lucky. That open heart of hers is a little more guarded around others. That silly grin is a little slower to spread across her face around new people. We feel chosen. We know her – the whole package, not just one side. We have been gifted with a secret - the secret life of Meez.
Happy 7th month today baby girl. I've told you from the moment we met how brave I think you are for taking this ride with us. It can be bumpy and lonely at times. But it can also be magical and grand. We are here to help make the latter come true more often than the former. We know you are here to do the same for us. Let's raise our glasses to another month with the Meez. We love you.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Sleepy thoughts
I just received an e-mail from Neiman Marcus with the subject line "Nothing says summer like a flirty dress." If they only knew who I am. Summer, in my limited wardrobe, means a tank top (mens small Hanes ribbed from Target) and flip flops. I'm not a member of the demographic for which this e-mail was intended. I do like summer though. And summer dresses ARE breezy and carefree, two qualities I aspire to attain. And I guess flirting is fun. I think I'll stay on their mailing list. A Neiman's card could be the answer to all of my problems.
We had a close encounter with a third kind last night. Who was the being in the other room? Why was she making such a racket? Was she indeed actually NEEDING us for some reason or was she simply WANTING us? V and I sat in the dark recess of our bed within our room and discussed this alien being only a bedroom away. I sent V in to uncover the mystery. Mia fell back to sleep quickly in his arms. He emerged, with no answers and exhausted. That used to be a victorious march (or crawl) for us - walking back to bed at 2:00 a.m. with her snoozing soundly in her crib. Now, her cries, and our clamoring to her side, are just a sign that we are SUCKERS. We're slowly working on teaching her to soothe herself back to sleep when she wakes up in the middle of the night. This small triumph will finally put to rest one of the factors that keep US (tired yet loving parents) different from THEM (damn cute but exhausting babies). Once we are all on the same page with sleeping patterns (understanding that we need them!), we'll be back to operating at our fullest potential.
Operating at our fullest potential sounds exhausting too. There is a happy medium to be found. And find it we will.
*Someone recently wrote about Close Encouters of A Third Kind and I that's why the movie is on my mind. I can't remember what I read that used the movie to lead into a strange occurence. If I could remember who did it, I could cite them properly. My genius is often inspired by others. I must give them credit.
We had a close encounter with a third kind last night. Who was the being in the other room? Why was she making such a racket? Was she indeed actually NEEDING us for some reason or was she simply WANTING us? V and I sat in the dark recess of our bed within our room and discussed this alien being only a bedroom away. I sent V in to uncover the mystery. Mia fell back to sleep quickly in his arms. He emerged, with no answers and exhausted. That used to be a victorious march (or crawl) for us - walking back to bed at 2:00 a.m. with her snoozing soundly in her crib. Now, her cries, and our clamoring to her side, are just a sign that we are SUCKERS. We're slowly working on teaching her to soothe herself back to sleep when she wakes up in the middle of the night. This small triumph will finally put to rest one of the factors that keep US (tired yet loving parents) different from THEM (damn cute but exhausting babies). Once we are all on the same page with sleeping patterns (understanding that we need them!), we'll be back to operating at our fullest potential.
Operating at our fullest potential sounds exhausting too. There is a happy medium to be found. And find it we will.
*Someone recently wrote about Close Encouters of A Third Kind and I that's why the movie is on my mind. I can't remember what I read that used the movie to lead into a strange occurence. If I could remember who did it, I could cite them properly. My genius is often inspired by others. I must give them credit.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Will it be Tessa or Bevin?
I actually just told a student this evening that I wouldn't be able to meet on Monday, as he was requesting, because I had an "already arranged engagement that simply couldn't be rescheduled." What I left out was that this engagement airs every Monday night at 8:30 on ABC. I turned down a job because the season finale of The Bachelor is on this Monday night. The most dramatic rose ceremony ever should be just that. I find myself drifting off in deep thought during the day. Who will he chose? Will he chose Tessa? She is pretty and smart, if a bit standoffish. Or will he chose Bevin? She is silly and lovable but also a tad flighty. Did I say "deep" thought? I should probably rethink that statement.
Running to someone I love
I'm about to take a long long trip. I don't know to where. Nor do I know why. All I know is that my body has taken it upon itself to store up enough water and fat to last us (yes...plural...) many many moons. By the size of the saddle bags I'm carting around, I'm guessing we may end up someplace in Asia. All I know is that our destination must be far. Very very far.
I decided to lug the extra baggage, that my body has so kindly been busy packing, to the gym this morning with Mia. I woke up to a dreary day and knew that a run outside wasn't in our cards. We loaded up in the car with our fingers crossed that the lady with the broken arm wouldn't be the child care provider today. To be honest, I was so in need of a good workout this morning that I had really only two requirements for Mia's care giver: Can you extinguish a fire? Do you have a heartbeat? Good. You'll work just fine.
We arrived at 9:00 and the nursery was almost empty. Elizabeth, the original woman I met when I first toured the place, was there. She is warm and squishy and smells like coconuts. She smiled a big gaped toothed smile when Mia came through the door. I felt good knowing that she was there to play with Mia. I quickly jumped on the treadmill for 40 minutes and then returned - sweaty and puffing to Mia's side. Elizabeth was holding her and kind of bouncing up and down lightly. I peeked through the window before I entered and I could tell that Mia was on the verge of crying. She just looked a bit tired. My fragile ego thinks she was desperately lonely for her beloved mama. Probably not the case though. Her nap time was approaching - quickly - so I think the tired explanation is much more fitting. I packed her up and we headed home. It was a success. I worked out! With Mia in the nursery! The drive home was excruciatingly irritating because I was determined NOT to let her fall asleep. I sang chipper songs and made foul noises with my mouth in an attempt to keep her awake. Mission accomplished. Although she refused to nap when we got home. Oh well. She's down now. I'm to the point that one out of two naps a day is pretty good. We're at a decent average.
I'm a bit nostalgic today for my life with Dad. I'm sad. I'm sitting in bed now as I type on my laptop and I just looked over and swore I saw my dad laying next to me, the way we did when we watched TV at my parents' house. He would roll over and look at me and say, "We're lucky you know that?" "Yup Dad. We are lucky." Then he'd squeeze my hand. Despite being in my thirties, married, a mother....when I was with him, I was "little Meggie". In the best way though. Not in a stunted and immature way. Just in the way that I knew the days of me at "ladybug school" and horseback riding lessons weren't that distant of memories. Dad always recognized that I was a smart successful woman who made her own choices and decisions...but that if anyone messed with me, he was a phone call away. When Mia was born, rather than looking at me as if I were no longer his little Meggie, he just lumped Mia in with me, so we could both be his girls. We were the "M and M girls." I loved that. I need to remind myself that I'm still little Meggie someplace and somewhere and that Mia and I are still the M and M girls. Death is hard because you feel as if you have to rewrite your history or rename/reassign these past memories. I don't have to do that though. I am who I always was. Maybe even more so now. I miss my Dad heart achingly so. I keep saying it and it doesn't seem to register with people. We say we miss summer on cold days or that we miss skiing in the dry heat of July. We say we miss our friends when they go on vacation or that we miss being 10 and not having the hard reality of life to deal with. We say "I miss you" to our loved ones in different states. These examples though don't paint the miss I'm feeling. The miss I'm feeling is deep and sore. It's missing something that you have to reinvent to be able to visit again. Not reinvent in the sense that I need to redesign who my dad was. I just need to find him in places other than right next to me - squeezing my hand - telling me we're lucky. I know today I'll find him when I wake Mia up. When I take her little pudgy hand. When I tell her that we're lucky.
I decided to lug the extra baggage, that my body has so kindly been busy packing, to the gym this morning with Mia. I woke up to a dreary day and knew that a run outside wasn't in our cards. We loaded up in the car with our fingers crossed that the lady with the broken arm wouldn't be the child care provider today. To be honest, I was so in need of a good workout this morning that I had really only two requirements for Mia's care giver: Can you extinguish a fire? Do you have a heartbeat? Good. You'll work just fine.
We arrived at 9:00 and the nursery was almost empty. Elizabeth, the original woman I met when I first toured the place, was there. She is warm and squishy and smells like coconuts. She smiled a big gaped toothed smile when Mia came through the door. I felt good knowing that she was there to play with Mia. I quickly jumped on the treadmill for 40 minutes and then returned - sweaty and puffing to Mia's side. Elizabeth was holding her and kind of bouncing up and down lightly. I peeked through the window before I entered and I could tell that Mia was on the verge of crying. She just looked a bit tired. My fragile ego thinks she was desperately lonely for her beloved mama. Probably not the case though. Her nap time was approaching - quickly - so I think the tired explanation is much more fitting. I packed her up and we headed home. It was a success. I worked out! With Mia in the nursery! The drive home was excruciatingly irritating because I was determined NOT to let her fall asleep. I sang chipper songs and made foul noises with my mouth in an attempt to keep her awake. Mission accomplished. Although she refused to nap when we got home. Oh well. She's down now. I'm to the point that one out of two naps a day is pretty good. We're at a decent average.
I'm a bit nostalgic today for my life with Dad. I'm sad. I'm sitting in bed now as I type on my laptop and I just looked over and swore I saw my dad laying next to me, the way we did when we watched TV at my parents' house. He would roll over and look at me and say, "We're lucky you know that?" "Yup Dad. We are lucky." Then he'd squeeze my hand. Despite being in my thirties, married, a mother....when I was with him, I was "little Meggie". In the best way though. Not in a stunted and immature way. Just in the way that I knew the days of me at "ladybug school" and horseback riding lessons weren't that distant of memories. Dad always recognized that I was a smart successful woman who made her own choices and decisions...but that if anyone messed with me, he was a phone call away. When Mia was born, rather than looking at me as if I were no longer his little Meggie, he just lumped Mia in with me, so we could both be his girls. We were the "M and M girls." I loved that. I need to remind myself that I'm still little Meggie someplace and somewhere and that Mia and I are still the M and M girls. Death is hard because you feel as if you have to rewrite your history or rename/reassign these past memories. I don't have to do that though. I am who I always was. Maybe even more so now. I miss my Dad heart achingly so. I keep saying it and it doesn't seem to register with people. We say we miss summer on cold days or that we miss skiing in the dry heat of July. We say we miss our friends when they go on vacation or that we miss being 10 and not having the hard reality of life to deal with. We say "I miss you" to our loved ones in different states. These examples though don't paint the miss I'm feeling. The miss I'm feeling is deep and sore. It's missing something that you have to reinvent to be able to visit again. Not reinvent in the sense that I need to redesign who my dad was. I just need to find him in places other than right next to me - squeezing my hand - telling me we're lucky. I know today I'll find him when I wake Mia up. When I take her little pudgy hand. When I tell her that we're lucky.
Monday, May 14, 2007
To zoo or not to zoo
Mia and I went to the zoo today for an afternoon walk. The sun was shining and I thought some discussion of wildlife preservation might do us some good. The zoo always leaves me with mixed emotions. I hate them in theory. The idea of keeping animals from roaming free makes a part of me want to wilt - curl up and die. My heart breaks for the big fat beached looking black rhino as he snoozes on the concrete floor. He has a clean water pit with a small waterfall echoing behind him, which is a lovely decorative touch, although hardly authentic. My skin crawls when I see the small monkey perched on a gourd picking at a scab, with one foot propped against the thick plexi window. Human hand prints smudge our side of the glass and monkey prints smudge his side. It's as if we are trying to reach out to one another, but the see through partition keeps us from cohabiting organically - naturally - wildly. I pointed things out to Mia, making sure all the while that I was addressing my concerns for the animals. I explained to her that I do understand the need for preservation. I do. We are a modern people who must take responsibility for our animal friends. If not for zoos, some of our fellow creatures wouldn't be alive. Extinct. Ugg. Such a dilemma we have put ourselves in Mia. We have rocketed ourselves forward with technology and innovation yet we have forgotten the simplest of our human obligations - to keep our Earth and animal friends healthy.
Mia was a poor student and ignored my whole lecture. She ate my water bottle and laughed at the monkey but that was where her interest ended. So much for our membership of "a year of enlightening experiences with animals."
Being a mom and a language/reading teacher, I find zoos to be a wonderland of descriptive possibilities. While carrying my heavy heart from exhibit to exhibit, I am always quick to recognize that the vocabulary we are exposing our children to is unbelievable. Sherbet colored flamingos. Rough skinned rhinos. Leathery looking elephants. Reticent lions and their accommodating mates. The learning isn't necessarily in the animals and what they are doing, because, let's be honest here, they aren't doing much. They aren't living as they would if they were in their natural habitat. They are existing strictly for our purposes. The learning though is in the discussion surrounding the animals. What do they look like? Choose one word to describe each animal. Find an animal who is most nearly opposite physically of this animal. If you could be any of these animals, which would you be (if Mia chooses none because their lives are a sad sad affair then I will reward here with a trip to Africa to see animals as they should be seen). Even though Mia isn't ready to write poetry about what she saw today, the exposure to the language is a gift. To see what sherbet, rough, and leathery all look like is something that we take for granted as adults. Some children might be hearing these words for the first time at the zoo and now they have a context for the word. They may begin to take ownership of it.
We thanked all of our animal friends at the zoo and came home. We thanked them for being here for us to learn from. We thanked them for giving up their own destiny in order for our little humans to grow up with intellectual freedom....and a destiny all their own. We must repay them in some powerful way. Maybe Mia will become a leader in preservation reform. What do you say Meez? Your mama will follow close behind and we'll do it together.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Swinging into summer
You know it's going to be a great day when you wake up naturally only to discover that the shortest person in the household is still sleeping. That means coffee right away! That means a quick glance at my e-mails and the news! That means a quiet moment of reflection before the day really begins! Mia woke up about an hour later than she normally does, which rarely happens.
V is home on Fridays so we took her together to her 6 month wellness visit with the doctor. She's perfect. What can I say? The shots weren't even that bad this visit. Of course, she screamed, as she should, but she was comforted quickly. The nurse tried to tickle her toes post poke and Mia gave her a good hard prickly stare (that's my girl). She hung onto my shoulder as she sat perched on my hip and looked long and hard at shot giver's face. It was a stare off. Mia won.
I scurried from the appt. to a lunch date with the delicious Erin. We had a ladies only lunch and it was the bit of fabulousness that I needed for the day. We discussed, in no particular order: Jackson Pollack - genius or just very very messy? Writers - good ones, bad ones and the criteria for each (we're still in indecision about what REALLY marks someone as a terrible writer), Skin Care (natch), Gun Control - what's up with the need to bear arms in this country?, and Anthropologie - who are we when we walk beneath your arched store entry? Are we whimsical? Are we spirited and carefree? Or are we just desperate to get back to Banana Republic and our other known territories? All of this between bites of awesome salads. Note to self: do again soon.
V and I then took the girls (don't forget about our toddler Bijou) to the park. It was 90 degrees here today! Bijou took a dip in the creek and we sat around and talked about music. We put Mia in the swing and she loved feeling the breeze against her skin. She didn't say that but I can only imagine how good it felt. She sat sleepily, dreamily, and enjoyed the quiet far away shouts of other kids playing. I watched her and wondered what she was thinking about. The picture I posted captures that pensive quality she has at times.
We called it a night after burgers from the grill and a cold glass of vino. Well, V called it a night then. I headed to the mall to try to find a pair of shoes. No luck. I called Emily in disgust on the drive home to declare that everything at the mall was ugly. I love that feeling in a way because you come and everything you own just feels that much cuter.
Happy weekend.
Wickedly Good
V and I saw Wicked last night and loved it. It's fun just being out with each other but the fact that we were going to see such a cool musical made it even more fun. We walked to the theater from our parking spot because the night was gorgeous. The kind of night that causes people in New York to lay in bed at night and daydream about moving to Colorado. It was mild and warm with just a hint of a breeze. Just a hint.
My parents gave us the tickets as a Christmas gift. I still remember opening presents together here at our house on Christmas Eve - glasses of wine twinkling from the coffee table as music wafted over a sleeping Mia and a calm Bijou. We exchanged thoughtful and sophisticated experiences. We gave them a dinner certificate to a quaint French restaurant and a Tattered Cover gift certificate. They gave us the tickets among other delightful goodies. We were just four people sharing some hope that tomorrow would be just as lovely as today and yesterday. We were four people clinking glasses to being happy. To be being willing. To being able.
Walking to our seats, our box seats might I add, I felt so proud. I looked up, maybe searching for a wink or something from Dad, and thought, "I feel worthy." I looked out over the sea of people and knew that Dad would have loved to have been here with us. It's amazing that experiences still, and always will, have his hold on them. I remember my parents bringing us as kids to The Pirate of Penzance. Les Miserables. Annie...All of the great restaurants we went. The hotels we stayed in all over the place. It wasn't about being grand. Sometimes it really wasn't. It was about being together and living a full life. Don't be a bump on a log Dad would sometimes say. Get out there and experience things. I think that's what endeared V to Dad. V is a doer....just like Dad. You give V 20 minutes and he will research something and go discover it, by himself or with someone willing. That quality is so attractive and charming. Perhaps that's what endeared V to me as well. He lives. Fully. Completely. Eternally.
The show was phenomenal. Wow. I don't even know what to say because it was THAT good. The performances were outstanding. The set was decadent and rich. The music was stellar. The whole thing was remarkable. It had only opened the night before so the energy in the room was still electric. After every song, the applause was explosive, like fireworks. Elphaba, the "wicked" witch, was played by a UNC grad and I was so proud of her. Of course, I've never even met her, but my heart pumped when she was onstage alone. We were so close. I could see the excitement in her face. I looked out over the crowd and knew that former classmates, old professors, were gathered to see her. I imagined her mother watching her and my face flushed a bit at the thought. It flushed with excitement for her family to see her up on stage acting and singing sensationally...not just doing it...but doing it so unbelievably well. When the actors came back on stage for their final bow, I saw her touch her hand to her heart as the curtain fell. I know that actors do that in a very affected way. Her gesture was so sweet and heartfelt though. I felt like a girl after the curtain fell because I was mimicking her gesture. I had raised my hand to touch my own heart, like I was practicing for my debut performance. I quickly looked around and dropped my hand. No one wants to be THAT girl. I just admire performers so much - singers, actors, etc. I think in another life I must have been one. I sometimes think I should take an acting class...just for fun. It isn't about fame or beauty for me. That's film. Acting is about taking on the lives of others - wearing someone else's clothes in order to better understand your own. I think it would therapeutic. And terrifying. And electrifying.
One last comment to Denverites...
A few rules of theater dress etiquette:
1. No. It still isn't appropriate to wear white shoes before Memorial Day. Call me old school. Call me a traditionalist. Call me what you will. The answer is still no. I will turn my head at white pants, although you might get a cold look from me, but white shoes are just not appropriate. Ever really.
2. Beaded ball gowns ladies....are just simply ridiculous. There is no need. Ever really.
3. Gentlemen. Yes. You must tuck your shirt in. I'm sorry. You simply must.
4. Ladies. Breasts must be contained and covered. It is for your own well being. I'm worried about you walking back to your cars.
5. Jeans are just not o.k. I am denim's biggest fan. Wear it all the time. But there is a time and a place. Figure it out.
I think I covered it all. Despite some of you making interesting fashion choices, I still like you. A whole hell of a lot. You helped make last night so memorable and special. I fell asleep touching toes and legs with V, as we always do, and I felt very very lucky.
My parents gave us the tickets as a Christmas gift. I still remember opening presents together here at our house on Christmas Eve - glasses of wine twinkling from the coffee table as music wafted over a sleeping Mia and a calm Bijou. We exchanged thoughtful and sophisticated experiences. We gave them a dinner certificate to a quaint French restaurant and a Tattered Cover gift certificate. They gave us the tickets among other delightful goodies. We were just four people sharing some hope that tomorrow would be just as lovely as today and yesterday. We were four people clinking glasses to being happy. To be being willing. To being able.
Walking to our seats, our box seats might I add, I felt so proud. I looked up, maybe searching for a wink or something from Dad, and thought, "I feel worthy." I looked out over the sea of people and knew that Dad would have loved to have been here with us. It's amazing that experiences still, and always will, have his hold on them. I remember my parents bringing us as kids to The Pirate of Penzance. Les Miserables. Annie...All of the great restaurants we went. The hotels we stayed in all over the place. It wasn't about being grand. Sometimes it really wasn't. It was about being together and living a full life. Don't be a bump on a log Dad would sometimes say. Get out there and experience things. I think that's what endeared V to Dad. V is a doer....just like Dad. You give V 20 minutes and he will research something and go discover it, by himself or with someone willing. That quality is so attractive and charming. Perhaps that's what endeared V to me as well. He lives. Fully. Completely. Eternally.
The show was phenomenal. Wow. I don't even know what to say because it was THAT good. The performances were outstanding. The set was decadent and rich. The music was stellar. The whole thing was remarkable. It had only opened the night before so the energy in the room was still electric. After every song, the applause was explosive, like fireworks. Elphaba, the "wicked" witch, was played by a UNC grad and I was so proud of her. Of course, I've never even met her, but my heart pumped when she was onstage alone. We were so close. I could see the excitement in her face. I looked out over the crowd and knew that former classmates, old professors, were gathered to see her. I imagined her mother watching her and my face flushed a bit at the thought. It flushed with excitement for her family to see her up on stage acting and singing sensationally...not just doing it...but doing it so unbelievably well. When the actors came back on stage for their final bow, I saw her touch her hand to her heart as the curtain fell. I know that actors do that in a very affected way. Her gesture was so sweet and heartfelt though. I felt like a girl after the curtain fell because I was mimicking her gesture. I had raised my hand to touch my own heart, like I was practicing for my debut performance. I quickly looked around and dropped my hand. No one wants to be THAT girl. I just admire performers so much - singers, actors, etc. I think in another life I must have been one. I sometimes think I should take an acting class...just for fun. It isn't about fame or beauty for me. That's film. Acting is about taking on the lives of others - wearing someone else's clothes in order to better understand your own. I think it would therapeutic. And terrifying. And electrifying.
One last comment to Denverites...
A few rules of theater dress etiquette:
1. No. It still isn't appropriate to wear white shoes before Memorial Day. Call me old school. Call me a traditionalist. Call me what you will. The answer is still no. I will turn my head at white pants, although you might get a cold look from me, but white shoes are just not appropriate. Ever really.
2. Beaded ball gowns ladies....are just simply ridiculous. There is no need. Ever really.
3. Gentlemen. Yes. You must tuck your shirt in. I'm sorry. You simply must.
4. Ladies. Breasts must be contained and covered. It is for your own well being. I'm worried about you walking back to your cars.
5. Jeans are just not o.k. I am denim's biggest fan. Wear it all the time. But there is a time and a place. Figure it out.
I think I covered it all. Despite some of you making interesting fashion choices, I still like you. A whole hell of a lot. You helped make last night so memorable and special. I fell asleep touching toes and legs with V, as we always do, and I felt very very lucky.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Should I be embarrassed?
Scene: Doctor's Office (rather sterile environment, small tables with tools and latex gloves, etc.)
Characters: Me (Soon To Be Moleless - STBM), Doctor (Lady With The Scalpel - LWTS), Nurse (Quiet Yet Present - QYP)
STBM - laying face down on bed with lower back exposed
LWTS - working quietly as she prepares STBM for the mole removal
LWTS - Cute jeans.
STBM - Thanks.
LWTS - What are they?
STBM - Citizens.
LWTS - Ummmhmmmm....very very cute. I need to stop spending so much on clothes. It's outrageous.
STBM - Yup. It's dangerous.
LWTS - I believe that a new pair of jeans will change me...will make me somehow better. Whenever I'm having some type of emotional crisis, I shop. I think that new clothes will transform me, potentially transforming the problem.
STBM - I hear ya sister. Keep talking.
LWTS - Yeah. I spend too too much. I need to curb some of my spending habits!
STBM - feeling relaxed and open - thinking that a potential new confidante has been discovered at the Kaiser office - feeling that a kindred spirit may have just been unearthed
STBM - I'm big on curbing silly spending habits. I just discovered that 1/4 lb. of Starbucks espresso beans cost less than a tall latte - $2.95. The 1/4 lb. lasts me for almost 3 weeks. I used to be off coffee...now we have found each other again. I'm rather liking my morning cup. It's $2.95 well spent. I think it's crazy that people will spend that DAILY though for a latte when I can spend that in a month for my cups. I'm bummed though because I thought I found a new brand of organic milk to buy. It's only $2.99 a gallon where as my old organic milk is $5.35. The bad news though is that the new organic brand isn't organic after all. It's natural. I hate that when companies try to trick you. How can injecting antibiotics and crap into milk still be natural? So, I'm back to spending $5.35. I know it seems odd but I'm a stickler about some of my products being organic. Something about dairy being pumped full of garbage scares me. I like the idea of big fat clean cows. Not sickly caged ones. So...I always try to cut corners. Where I can. It's important not to fall victim to this mentality of paying for convienence. Of course, sometimes we have to. Especially moms. Running around like a maniac trying to please an infant deserves SOME luxuries that may cost a bit more. That being said though, I'm very careful about convienence shopping.
LWTS - SILENCE
QYP - SILENCE
STBM - SILENCE
STBM - So...anyway...
LWTS - Just call me if there are any problems - inflammation - pain - that sort of thing - you're all set
STBM - The jeans are from Garment District. You should go there. Cute stuff. The buyer must be a bit odd because there really is no cohesive theme to the store. You can dig though. They have killer sales too.
LWTS - smile
STBM - ALright well I'll just call you. I mean if I need you. So I'll just see you next time. I think I'm going to come in often to have my moles checked so we'll just see each other then.
END
Characters: Me (Soon To Be Moleless - STBM), Doctor (Lady With The Scalpel - LWTS), Nurse (Quiet Yet Present - QYP)
STBM - laying face down on bed with lower back exposed
LWTS - working quietly as she prepares STBM for the mole removal
LWTS - Cute jeans.
STBM - Thanks.
LWTS - What are they?
STBM - Citizens.
LWTS - Ummmhmmmm....very very cute. I need to stop spending so much on clothes. It's outrageous.
STBM - Yup. It's dangerous.
LWTS - I believe that a new pair of jeans will change me...will make me somehow better. Whenever I'm having some type of emotional crisis, I shop. I think that new clothes will transform me, potentially transforming the problem.
STBM - I hear ya sister. Keep talking.
LWTS - Yeah. I spend too too much. I need to curb some of my spending habits!
STBM - feeling relaxed and open - thinking that a potential new confidante has been discovered at the Kaiser office - feeling that a kindred spirit may have just been unearthed
STBM - I'm big on curbing silly spending habits. I just discovered that 1/4 lb. of Starbucks espresso beans cost less than a tall latte - $2.95. The 1/4 lb. lasts me for almost 3 weeks. I used to be off coffee...now we have found each other again. I'm rather liking my morning cup. It's $2.95 well spent. I think it's crazy that people will spend that DAILY though for a latte when I can spend that in a month for my cups. I'm bummed though because I thought I found a new brand of organic milk to buy. It's only $2.99 a gallon where as my old organic milk is $5.35. The bad news though is that the new organic brand isn't organic after all. It's natural. I hate that when companies try to trick you. How can injecting antibiotics and crap into milk still be natural? So, I'm back to spending $5.35. I know it seems odd but I'm a stickler about some of my products being organic. Something about dairy being pumped full of garbage scares me. I like the idea of big fat clean cows. Not sickly caged ones. So...I always try to cut corners. Where I can. It's important not to fall victim to this mentality of paying for convienence. Of course, sometimes we have to. Especially moms. Running around like a maniac trying to please an infant deserves SOME luxuries that may cost a bit more. That being said though, I'm very careful about convienence shopping.
LWTS - SILENCE
QYP - SILENCE
STBM - SILENCE
STBM - So...anyway...
LWTS - Just call me if there are any problems - inflammation - pain - that sort of thing - you're all set
STBM - The jeans are from Garment District. You should go there. Cute stuff. The buyer must be a bit odd because there really is no cohesive theme to the store. You can dig though. They have killer sales too.
LWTS - smile
STBM - ALright well I'll just call you. I mean if I need you. So I'll just see you next time. I think I'm going to come in often to have my moles checked so we'll just see each other then.
END
Moleskin
I am preparing for a tearful goodbye today; I am having a mole removed. It's a simple procedure - just a few stitches and I'm back in the car. Twenty minutes I was told. I have been obsessively watching my skin these days and have gone in for two body checks in the last year. I just want to stay on top of it all. My dad's death has made me face my own mortality. It has actually made me quite comfortable with it. I don't fear it...at all really. I know that when my time comes, and it will, I will head over to his house in the heaven I've created in my mind. He will make popcorn and we will continue to watch LOST episodes together. I will pause the show to make sandwiches and then we'll resume our afternoon. While I will miss everyone here terribly, so much so that I can't think about it, I know I will be with my dad up there. Of course, my mole won't be joining us. I'm sad because it is a pretty one - dark and flat. That's DANGER to a dermatologist but to me, it's always been feminine and comely....on my lower back. I've had it for as long as I can remember. This particular doctor wants to remove it just to be safe. I keep thinking back to all those years I attempted to reprise the role of Brooke Shields in The Blue Lagoon - laying by the pool in hopes of becoming the color of a walnut. To no avail. I would always trail home, still freckly, and wonder why I just couldn't accept myself the way I was. I used to joke that I wanted to marry an Italian because I didn't want my daughter to suffer as I had - being flat and fair. (Suffer...I obviously had a nice life if this was suffering!) I was under the impression that all Italian women had big boobs AND tan skin. Funny that I did marry an Italian.
Good bye Mole. We had some good times together. You will be missed but the scar will always be my reminder of what used to be. So long.
Good bye Mole. We had some good times together. You will be missed but the scar will always be my reminder of what used to be. So long.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Scholar
I tutored yesterday evening and drove home thinking how much I love teaching. My student last night, a 25 year old girl studying for the GRE, was wide eyed and slack jawed (both expressions of terror...not surprise) about the upcoming test. We worked for two hours on determining the meanings of unknown words. The original intention was to get through all four sections of the verbal portion of the test in a two hour block but the vocabulary component was such a hurdle for her. I found myself reteaching some basic skills - breaking words into parts (prefix, suffix, and root), assigning a value to each word (positive or negative), putting words into context (when possible), etc. I tried desperately, as I always do, to show the beauty of linguistics. I tried to remove the unknown factor and make it somehow seem as if these words were old friends just waiting to be rediscovered. I kept hitting a wall. At high high speeds with no seat belt. I watched her lovely face scrunch up in almost physical pain as I said certain prefixes and asked her what words she knew that began with them. I don't know. I don't know. She stammered and explained that her brain doesn't work this way. That she can't do it. She tugged at her shiny blonde hair and nervously bit at the skin around her thumb. I put my hand out and touched her wrist. Yes. You can do it. Her eyes softened and she began to relax. The questioning tone in her voice never disappeared but she actually began to dig into the dark cluttered closets in her brain to pull out various words. She bared a deep insecurity to me - her struggle with language and words. This is why I love teaching. The trust that is developed between the learner and the teacher is such a powerful thing. Putting yourself on a ledge is scary enough. Then being asked to free fall into the arms of a stranger is terrifying. That's what learning requires you to do. I love to romanticize the actual act of being a student. I picture coffee houses and good looking older professors. I picture oak tree lined pathways leading to quaint brick buildings. Old libraries. Longish haired boys reading while they walk. Pretty girls laying in the sun with flashcards. Beautiful scene eh? Yeah. That's not learning. True learning is awkward and hard. It's knowing what you want to say but not having the words to say it. It's being put on the spot. It's turning red with defeat. It's wondering why everyone else seems to be able to do it so effortlessly. When I watch my students in the midst of these life altering moments, I know I have found my calling. I am simply there to guide them through the rough waters of true discovery. I consider myself more of a facilitator than anything else. I create the environment the student needs in order to succeed. Sometimes it's me reaching out to touch a wrist. Sometimes it requires more, often with my little emergent readers. Sometimes it requires less. I'm constantly gauging what it is that my student needs from me in order to make the connection. The human brain isn't something you can open and deposit information into. We aren't parking meters. It's messy work. It's interesting because it never becomes easier. I still find myself hiding out occasionally from new experiences when I think they will be tricky or challenging. That is something we learn from a very young age; not learning is easy. What we don't learn though is that the consequence for inaction is huge. The price we pay for ignorance is devastating.
As I said goodbye to my student last night she shared some stories about her family. We walked to our cars and she explained that she wasn't sure what she wanted to do with her life. She was warm and engaging. She was funny and slightly self deprecating. She laughed openly and easily and I realized she had let her guard down with me. I told her she would do very well. Not to worry. Everything would be just fine. She thanked me and said she'd keep me updated about her score. I didn't share with her that I wasn't talking about the test when I said she would be o.k.
It's about being willing. We're all so worried about what our bodies and faces will look like when we do decide to free fall backward into a new experience. Will I look ugly? Will I look dumb? I want to look graceful. I hope I look competent. No one will remember the actual fall and how we all looked as we fell into the unknown. They will just know whether or not we are on the ground or still up on the ledge. Here is to throwing a huge party on the ground when we all get there - each and every time.
As I said goodbye to my student last night she shared some stories about her family. We walked to our cars and she explained that she wasn't sure what she wanted to do with her life. She was warm and engaging. She was funny and slightly self deprecating. She laughed openly and easily and I realized she had let her guard down with me. I told her she would do very well. Not to worry. Everything would be just fine. She thanked me and said she'd keep me updated about her score. I didn't share with her that I wasn't talking about the test when I said she would be o.k.
It's about being willing. We're all so worried about what our bodies and faces will look like when we do decide to free fall backward into a new experience. Will I look ugly? Will I look dumb? I want to look graceful. I hope I look competent. No one will remember the actual fall and how we all looked as we fell into the unknown. They will just know whether or not we are on the ground or still up on the ledge. Here is to throwing a huge party on the ground when we all get there - each and every time.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
31 Years
I haven't had a chance to write the past few days and the last post wasn't as comprehensive as it needed to be. I have a lot to say. Or at least I have an hour (cross your fingers) while Mia sleeps and I know it's now or never.
My birthday was Friday and I woke up feeling incredibly self indulgent. I was preparing myself for a day of complete narcissism. It was all about me. The day ended up being lovely and full of me moments - a great yoga class (with a sighting of my dear friend Erin, bearing a gift none the less), a pedicure, lots of conversations with good friends, a surprise flower delivery from dear sissie, a visit from my mom (also bearing great gifts) and an awesome dinner at Bistro Vendome. It was the day I had envisioned...with a twist. I wasn't expecting to feel sadness. A deep one at that. The feeling crept over me early, as I drove to yoga. I was listening to a song by the Plain White Ts (Hey Delilah), which always tugs at some obscure heartstring, when it hit me. I missed my Dad. I wanted him to call. I just felt this pit that time was passing, and he wasn't here to see it pass with me. It was an overwhelming sense of grief I felt. I have a hard time describing the enormity of his loss. I have a hard time articulating the place he held in my life. Saying he was a dear dear friend is an understatement. Saying he was my beloved dad is obvious. I can't describe it because it isn't like any other relationship I have. My relationship with my parents isn't a complicated thing. It isn't rife with emotion. It is pure, simple, and very very true. They are my closest confidants in many ways. I was 31....and he wasn't here. The first year of my life that he isn't here.
This sadness haunted me all day, yesterday too actually. Really until my mom sent me Anna Quindlen's speech. It hit me like a ton of bricks this morning that Dad's soul and spirit are more powerful than most I know. He may not be here in breath - but good God the guy is here in spirit. I love that about him. His soulful existence just continues to grow and grow and grow. That comforted me. Feeling the almost tangible shine from him is so reassuring.
Writing all of this down helps me to actually move through it all - the muddy sludge of grief. Life is so quick and fast paced that no time is given for reflection. It's like when I'm at the grocery store and I'm desperately trying to put my receipt as well as my change in my wallet before being pushed out the door. The checker is always on to the next person, while I'm still mid-sentence, and I'm left scrambling to gather my bags as I awkwardly apologize, my sentence still dangling mid air. I feel rushed on to the next thing. I'm beginning to realize that I must take the time. Beg, borrow, or steal if I have to. It is MY time after all. I won't be rushed through the death of my father. I won't be bullied into hurriedly stuffing my deepest confessions of grief into my purse as I search for words to apologize to those who are waiting behind me. This is my experience to move through. And I'm moving slowly. The process has been a beautiful - bitter - one. Being a new mom, I am learning to move much more slowly. Mia has been a helpful friend. She breathes quietly into my ear as I hold her. She grabs at strands of hair that fall around my face. She smiles slowly and sweetly as I talk to her. I always tell V that she is here - now - for a reason.
I hear her now. The napping thing this morning isn't quite working out. We'll try again later.
My birthday was Friday and I woke up feeling incredibly self indulgent. I was preparing myself for a day of complete narcissism. It was all about me. The day ended up being lovely and full of me moments - a great yoga class (with a sighting of my dear friend Erin, bearing a gift none the less), a pedicure, lots of conversations with good friends, a surprise flower delivery from dear sissie, a visit from my mom (also bearing great gifts) and an awesome dinner at Bistro Vendome. It was the day I had envisioned...with a twist. I wasn't expecting to feel sadness. A deep one at that. The feeling crept over me early, as I drove to yoga. I was listening to a song by the Plain White Ts (Hey Delilah), which always tugs at some obscure heartstring, when it hit me. I missed my Dad. I wanted him to call. I just felt this pit that time was passing, and he wasn't here to see it pass with me. It was an overwhelming sense of grief I felt. I have a hard time describing the enormity of his loss. I have a hard time articulating the place he held in my life. Saying he was a dear dear friend is an understatement. Saying he was my beloved dad is obvious. I can't describe it because it isn't like any other relationship I have. My relationship with my parents isn't a complicated thing. It isn't rife with emotion. It is pure, simple, and very very true. They are my closest confidants in many ways. I was 31....and he wasn't here. The first year of my life that he isn't here.
This sadness haunted me all day, yesterday too actually. Really until my mom sent me Anna Quindlen's speech. It hit me like a ton of bricks this morning that Dad's soul and spirit are more powerful than most I know. He may not be here in breath - but good God the guy is here in spirit. I love that about him. His soulful existence just continues to grow and grow and grow. That comforted me. Feeling the almost tangible shine from him is so reassuring.
Writing all of this down helps me to actually move through it all - the muddy sludge of grief. Life is so quick and fast paced that no time is given for reflection. It's like when I'm at the grocery store and I'm desperately trying to put my receipt as well as my change in my wallet before being pushed out the door. The checker is always on to the next person, while I'm still mid-sentence, and I'm left scrambling to gather my bags as I awkwardly apologize, my sentence still dangling mid air. I feel rushed on to the next thing. I'm beginning to realize that I must take the time. Beg, borrow, or steal if I have to. It is MY time after all. I won't be rushed through the death of my father. I won't be bullied into hurriedly stuffing my deepest confessions of grief into my purse as I search for words to apologize to those who are waiting behind me. This is my experience to move through. And I'm moving slowly. The process has been a beautiful - bitter - one. Being a new mom, I am learning to move much more slowly. Mia has been a helpful friend. She breathes quietly into my ear as I hold her. She grabs at strands of hair that fall around my face. She smiles slowly and sweetly as I talk to her. I always tell V that she is here - now - for a reason.
I hear her now. The napping thing this morning isn't quite working out. We'll try again later.
Living La Vida Soulful
My mom sent this to me recently - a commencement speech given by Anna Quindlen at Villanova University. I've read it before but it resonated more powerfully with me this time around. The idea of living a soulful life isn't just something I aspire to do, it's something I must do. The idea of leading with my spirit is burned into my heart. It is my only understanding of how to lead a life well lived. I had two masters teaching me the practice - my parents. Needless to say, it's a daily struggle to be brave enough to act with my soul and not my desire to fit in. Like I said, it is a practice. This is probably why I have found yoga, or rather yoga has found me. It too is a practice...something you never perfect. It is a physical reflection of the inner workings of your mind and spirit. You try poses. You fall out of them. You discover things you never thought were possible. You experience success and defeat. You feel happiness, anger, resentment, bliss, and fear....all by yourself on a small mat. Just like life. You experience this range of wild emotions and you realize that it is really only you feeling them. A soulful life is one in which you embrace the understanding that at times you walk alone. I don't mean living a friendless or loverless life. Of course not. We need companionship and intimacy. I simply mean living with an understanding that your journey, while intended to be shared, is still your journey. Anna Quindlen's message touches on this. Read on:
I'm a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don't ever confuse the two, your life and your work. You will walk out of here this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has. There will be hundreds of people out there with your same degree; there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you will be the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on a bus, or in a car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank account but your soul. People don't talk about the soul very much anymore. It's so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is a cold comfort on a winter night, or when you're sad, or broke, or lonely, or when you've gotten back the test results and they're not so good. Here is my resume: I am a good mother to three children. I have tried never to let my profession stand in the way of being a good parent. I no longer consider myself the center of the universe. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh. I am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows mean what they say. I am a good friend to my friends, and they to me. Without them, there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard cutout. But I call them on the phone, and I meet them for lunch. I would be rotten, or at best mediocre at my job, if those other things were not true. You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is all you are. So here's what I wanted to tell you today: Get a life. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger paycheck, the larger house. Do you think you'd care so very much about those things if you blew an aneurysm one afternoon, or found a lump in your breast? Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water pushing itself on a breeze over Seaside Heights, a life in which you stop and watch how a red tailed hawk circles over the water or the way a baby scowls with concentration when she tries to pick up a Cheerio with her thumb and first finger. Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Pick up the phone. Send an e-mail. Write a letter.
Get a life in which you are generous. And realize that life is the best thing ever, and that you have no business taking it for granted. Care so deeply about its goodness that you want to spread it around. Take money you would have spent on beers and give it to charity. Work in a soup kitchen. Be a big brother or sister. All of you want to do well. But if you do not do good too, then doing well will never be enough. It is so easy to waste our lives, our days, our hours, our minutes. It is so easy to take for granted the color of our kids' eyes , the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again. It is so easy to exist instead of to live. I learned to live many years ago. I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get. I learned to look at all the good in the world and try to give some of it back because I believed in it, completely and utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had learned. By telling them this: Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby's ear. Read in the backyard with the sun on your face. Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness, because if you do, you will live it with joy and passion as it ought to be lived. -- Anna Quindlen
I'm a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don't ever confuse the two, your life and your work. You will walk out of here this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has. There will be hundreds of people out there with your same degree; there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you will be the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on a bus, or in a car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank account but your soul. People don't talk about the soul very much anymore. It's so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is a cold comfort on a winter night, or when you're sad, or broke, or lonely, or when you've gotten back the test results and they're not so good. Here is my resume: I am a good mother to three children. I have tried never to let my profession stand in the way of being a good parent. I no longer consider myself the center of the universe. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh. I am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows mean what they say. I am a good friend to my friends, and they to me. Without them, there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard cutout. But I call them on the phone, and I meet them for lunch. I would be rotten, or at best mediocre at my job, if those other things were not true. You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is all you are. So here's what I wanted to tell you today: Get a life. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger paycheck, the larger house. Do you think you'd care so very much about those things if you blew an aneurysm one afternoon, or found a lump in your breast? Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water pushing itself on a breeze over Seaside Heights, a life in which you stop and watch how a red tailed hawk circles over the water or the way a baby scowls with concentration when she tries to pick up a Cheerio with her thumb and first finger. Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Pick up the phone. Send an e-mail. Write a letter.
Get a life in which you are generous. And realize that life is the best thing ever, and that you have no business taking it for granted. Care so deeply about its goodness that you want to spread it around. Take money you would have spent on beers and give it to charity. Work in a soup kitchen. Be a big brother or sister. All of you want to do well. But if you do not do good too, then doing well will never be enough. It is so easy to waste our lives, our days, our hours, our minutes. It is so easy to take for granted the color of our kids' eyes , the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again. It is so easy to exist instead of to live. I learned to live many years ago. I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get. I learned to look at all the good in the world and try to give some of it back because I believed in it, completely and utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had learned. By telling them this: Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby's ear. Read in the backyard with the sun on your face. Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness, because if you do, you will live it with joy and passion as it ought to be lived. -- Anna Quindlen
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Lighten Up
This just in from Emily's friend in KC. Hilarious. I read it and laughed out loud.
At a U2 concert in Ireland , Bono asks the audience for some quiet. Then he starts to slowly clap his hands.Holding the audience in total silence, he says into the microphone...."I want you to think about something. Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies."A voice from the front of the audience yells out...."Then fookin stop clapping, ya arsehole!"
At a U2 concert in Ireland , Bono asks the audience for some quiet. Then he starts to slowly clap his hands.Holding the audience in total silence, he says into the microphone...."I want you to think about something. Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies."A voice from the front of the audience yells out...."Then fookin stop clapping, ya arsehole!"
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Desert dreams of Italian food
Part of the charm of marrying into an Italian family is the food. Braciole di manzo alla Calabrese (rolled stuffed beef) can take the edge of long long long stories about paisans that are no longer alive. Pesce con pomodori (fish with tomatoes) can take the sting from long long long discussions about the old days. Thoughts of biscotti alle Mandorle (almond biscotti) make long long long homilies at church with my mother in law bearable. Homemade pizza...that makes everything worthwhile. La cucina was my favorite place to park myself when visiting my mother in law....until she went organic on me several years ago. She is still a phenomenal cook. Fabulous. But the gay ol times of blacking out with fresh tomato sauce and bread from the oven are no longer. Opening her fridge now in Tucson is somewhat like opening the fridge at a health market. Under normal circumstances, that's the way I like it. But I'm so programmed to eat when I'm with her - and to LOVE eating when I'm with her - that I can't help but be a bit disappointed in this whole trend of being healthy. Of course I'm supportive - the woman is in the best shape of her life and she is almost 75 years old - but I still am always holding out hope that the next time I visit I will find hunks of romano and parmiggano. I'm hoping that mortadella and sopresata will be awaiting me with lovely fat olives and gobs of good strong oil. A girl can only dream.... She did say that she will make Mia her famous meatballs when Mia is ready. I've already begun to brace Mia for the big moment.
So....because there wasn't any of my favorite foods to carry me through the long long long stories of dead Italian people, I did what any self respecting American woman would do. I found the nearest mall. I decided that retail therapy would be a nice - well deserved - break for me. In between tales of old neighbors (Italian of course) and the store (Pellegrino's - the family import market), I went shopping. I discovered something...some malls still have Orange Julius...and those malls need to be torn down. I walked in and discovered the old mall staple and for a moment was overcome with nostalgia, remembering my days as a 13 year old at Southglenn Mall. Then I saw Wilsons Leather and thought that something needed to be done. I turned around and left. Have no fear, I found another very worthy mall - an outdoor one. I bought some things and the feeling I had was almost as good as the feeling I used to get eating Mary's amazing cooking. Shopping is a second to her food. For sure.
The visit was a success. Mia had the time of her life. She quite enjoyed V and I scurrying after her every single move. We were sweating and exhausted for most of the visit as we made sure she was comfortable at all times. (This kids has a nice life.) She chose not to really sleep at all while we were there but she was in a great mood the whole time. We swam everyday and did a lot of hanging out with Nonna. They were equally delighted with each other. I watched Mia enviously at times. She was so comfortable...so herself. She just continued on with her life as if there were no change at all. Except of course the decision of hers to take up a vow to not sleep while in AZ. I, on the other hand, have decided that I am somewhat of a pain in the ass. I am so used to my routine that I turn rather infantile when I'm out of it. Interesting that my infant daughter is teaching me to be more flexible - more easygoing - dare I say, more mature. I have a long way to go. I must study the master as she joyfully stuffs things into her mouth and happily talks to no one really. She is a good teacher. Seeing V so happy to have his mother spending quality time with Mia was great. I know how much this trip meant to him and I was happy to oblige. I realize he does so much for me (and I'm not the easiest person to live with) that this is the least I can do for him. His family is very precious to him. Therefore they are to me too.
We are glad to be back home and by we I mean me. Mia could stay in the desert all the live long day and be happy as a clam. I am excited to fall back into my beloved routine though. It always feels nice to sleep in your own bed, shower in your own shower, and eat in your own kitchen. There is no place like home.
So....because there wasn't any of my favorite foods to carry me through the long long long stories of dead Italian people, I did what any self respecting American woman would do. I found the nearest mall. I decided that retail therapy would be a nice - well deserved - break for me. In between tales of old neighbors (Italian of course) and the store (Pellegrino's - the family import market), I went shopping. I discovered something...some malls still have Orange Julius...and those malls need to be torn down. I walked in and discovered the old mall staple and for a moment was overcome with nostalgia, remembering my days as a 13 year old at Southglenn Mall. Then I saw Wilsons Leather and thought that something needed to be done. I turned around and left. Have no fear, I found another very worthy mall - an outdoor one. I bought some things and the feeling I had was almost as good as the feeling I used to get eating Mary's amazing cooking. Shopping is a second to her food. For sure.
The visit was a success. Mia had the time of her life. She quite enjoyed V and I scurrying after her every single move. We were sweating and exhausted for most of the visit as we made sure she was comfortable at all times. (This kids has a nice life.) She chose not to really sleep at all while we were there but she was in a great mood the whole time. We swam everyday and did a lot of hanging out with Nonna. They were equally delighted with each other. I watched Mia enviously at times. She was so comfortable...so herself. She just continued on with her life as if there were no change at all. Except of course the decision of hers to take up a vow to not sleep while in AZ. I, on the other hand, have decided that I am somewhat of a pain in the ass. I am so used to my routine that I turn rather infantile when I'm out of it. Interesting that my infant daughter is teaching me to be more flexible - more easygoing - dare I say, more mature. I have a long way to go. I must study the master as she joyfully stuffs things into her mouth and happily talks to no one really. She is a good teacher. Seeing V so happy to have his mother spending quality time with Mia was great. I know how much this trip meant to him and I was happy to oblige. I realize he does so much for me (and I'm not the easiest person to live with) that this is the least I can do for him. His family is very precious to him. Therefore they are to me too.
We are glad to be back home and by we I mean me. Mia could stay in the desert all the live long day and be happy as a clam. I am excited to fall back into my beloved routine though. It always feels nice to sleep in your own bed, shower in your own shower, and eat in your own kitchen. There is no place like home.
Hands behind your head ducky
I wanted to post a few pictures of Mia at her swim class this past week. It was her second session and I think she felt some extreme pressure to maintain her position as the best in the class. She didn't mess around for a minute folks...not one minute. I kept trying to take photos, saying, "smile! smile! smile!" I felt as if I were begging for a bone from a federal judge...or a state patrol officer. She was all business. After a bit, I gave up with trying to coax her into being a show pony. If she doesn't want to smile, she doesn't need to smile. It's funny being a mom; you suddenly feel responsible for how others perceive not only you, but also your child. It felt good to just let it all go. I set the camera down and enjoyed watching her determination as she chased the plastic ducky in the water. The ducky didn't stand a chance against The Mia.
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